


Five Times Hanzo Was There For Genji

by Aluxra



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Body Horror, Family History, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-07 07:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7704955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aluxra/pseuds/Aluxra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times in Genji's life when Hanzo was there for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> A number of headcanons will appear throughout the story, I will link each one at the end of the chapter they appear in.
> 
> Kudos and comments are appreciated, I would like to know what people think of my writing. You can visit me on my [Tumblr](aluxra.tumblr.com) too if you wish c:
> 
> Next Update: 14/08/16
> 
> Enjoy xXx

Genji is four years old, and shadows dance on the wall in his room as the wind carries ghostly whispers outside his window. He hears the security guards making their rounds outside; the crunch of gravel under their feet, the quiet murmur of their voices. He does not like his father’s security; tall, strange, stern men all dressed in the same black suits. He knows they are there for his protection, but he does not understand why: they frighten him, but at least they do not pay much attention to him, and he is glad for that. It makes it easier for what he does next.

Gathering his courage, he slips out from under his quilt, his wide, hazel brown eyes watching the shadows stretch across the wall, long crooked fingers reaching out to snatch him from his bed and carry him away to the spirit world, and he scurries to his bedroom door and slips out into the hallway.

The walls are hung with painted lanterns at regular intervals, emitting a warm orange glow that makes the lacquered floor shine and the intricate patterns on the walls shift and move, like the dragons in his father’s stories have come to life and are hiding down the long corridors. He keeps to the edges, retracing footsteps that he knows by heart; he pauses at the doorways, hiding behind the carved frames and peering around the corner at the handful of security guards pacing the area, their eyes drawn to the rooftops and the upper floors, never towards the ground, lower than their knees, where Genji stands at full height.

He creeps past them gingerly, fear of being discovered making his hands shake, and he hurries away with a furtive glance back, but he is not followed.

The darkness makes the journey seem longer, the lanterns bringing more shadows to dance up the walls, like gleeful demons celebrating in front of a fire, and Genji is relieved to find himself standing at the door of his destination: sliding the door open, he sneaks inside and closes it behind him. The room is bathed in cold grey-blues, the shadows not as menacing here: there are no trees outside the window for monsters to perch on the boughs, and the clear night sky is visible through the window above the bed.

It is the bed he approaches, biting his lip and balling his hands into fists nervously, glancing around the room as if monsters hid in every corner. The occupant of the bed is already awake, rolling over and sitting up as he approaches: his older brother Hanzo, seven years old going on twenty seven, solemn and practical.

‘Genji?’ he whispers, his brow furrowing in worry, his eyes darting around the room, seeking out potential danger. ‘What’s wrong? Is there trouble? You know you’re not supposed to be out of bed at night.’

‘I got scared,’ Genji replies, shuffling from foot to foot embarrassedly: now that he is with his brother, he feels silly. Hanzo is never scared. Even now his shoulders sag, sighing at his little brother’s silliness.

‘Genji,’ he says. ‘It was just a bad dream. It can’t hurt you.’

Genji shakes his head. ‘There was a monster. It’s in my room.’

‘There’s no monster. Was someone in your room? Was there an intruder?’ Hanzo asks, tossing back the covers and moving to stand.

‘No, it was a monster.’

‘Genji, there’s no such thing as monsters, and if there were, the guards would kill it,’ Hanzo explains; he’s always so patient with Genji, even in the middle of the night when Genji wakes him.

‘They can’t see it.’

Hanzo sighs again, shaking his head and looks up at his brother standing by his bed. He jerks his head to the space beside him, and lifts the quilt covers.

‘Come on, get it,’ he offers. ‘The monsters won’t dare try to hurt you when I’m around.’

Genji does not need to be offered twice, sliding in under the covers and climbing over Hanzo so he is closest to the wall, Hanzo acting as a buffer between him and the rest of the room. He looks up at the window above him, worried.

‘What if it comes in through the window?’

‘It won’t see you right underneath the window,’ Hanzo assures him, straightening the covers and settling back into bed, rolling over to face his little brother. ‘It’ll have to come right in, and if it does, it’ll see me first, and I’ll kill it before it can see you.’

He sounds so sure, Genji doesn’t doubt him: Hanzo is always so brave, there is nothing his older brother can’t do. He smiles, and shuffles closer to him, reaching out his short arms in silent askance. Hanzo huffs, because seven year olds are too old for cuddles, but he reaches out and pulls Genji across the space between them, hugging him close. He even tucks Genji’s head under his chin so he can watch for monsters creeping in through the window.

‘Go to sleep, Genji,’ he says, petting his hair. ‘Everything will be alright. You’ll be okay as long as I'm here.’

Genji believes him, and slips off into a peaceful sleep, knowing that nothing can happen to him while his older brother is there to protect him.


	2. Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I'd update tomorrow, but I decided to give you guys a little surprise. Don't say I'm not good to you, lol :D
> 
> Kudos and comments are appreciated, let me know what you guys think. ^-^ I also have a [Tumblr](aluxra.tumblr.com) if you want to come and chat over there. 
> 
> Enjoy!  
> xXx

Genji is ten years old, and is old enough to understand who his family really is and what it means to outsiders. The other children in his class whisper behind his back; he hears the words “criminal” and “mob boss” and “killers” in the same breath as his family name, and his father’s name, and his name and Hanzo’s too. They lower their gazes when he looks their way, going out of their way to avoid him when they can. Others try to befriend him, because they think they’ll be “cool” or get some sort of benefit from it. They’re worse than the ones who avoid him.

Others are bolder, unafraid of the potential backlash from aggravating a crime lord’s son: perhaps they are children of his father’s rivals, hiding under the radar in the Shimada clan’s empire, or perhaps they simply think it’s a game to antagonise the son of a crime lord. Genji doesn’t ask, doesn’t want to know: he ignores them, and says nothing against their increasing taunting, walking tall and proud as if they are not worth his time. _A Shimada does not cower from lesser men._

He doesn’t feel so sure of himself, not when four of them, a year or two older than he is, corner him outside the school gates. They shove him against the wall, out of the line of sight from the school doors, and his bag falls to the ground, notebooks and pens spilling from the open zip where it was grabbed and tossed aside.

‘Hey!’ he shouts, and he tries to pick it up, getting shoved back against the wall again. ‘Knock it off!’

‘Or else what?’ one of the boys challenge. ‘You gonna go crying home to mommy and daddy?’

‘They say the Shimada are dragons,’ another jeers. ‘You don’t look much like a dragon.’

‘More like a worm.’

'Yeah, a wriggling, snot nosed little worm.'

Genji scowls, and glares at them even as his face flushes with embarrassment. He knows he is not like his brother or father; adults comment about his “quiet, gentle nature”, how he picks up injured birds and small critters to take home to his mother to nurse back to health; there is still a rabbit that lives happily in their courtyard under the sakura tree, refusing to leave after Genji saved it from a cat one day and brought it home. He is prone to idle daydreaming and impulsiveness, nothing like the controlled focus his family possesses.

‘Look, he’s going to start crying!’

‘I am not!’ Genji retorts, shoving the accuser. They laugh at him for his trouble, shoving him back against the wall roughly. ‘Why don’t you just go away?’

‘Why don’t you make us?’

Genji sees the open handed slap aiming for his head as the challenge is spoken, and he blocks it sharply with his forearm, knocking it away. He shifts into a defensive stance, glaring up at the group of older boys, who hoot with laughter at him.

‘Ooh, what are you gonna do, huh?’ one snickers, feigning a punch that Genji automatically tries to deflect, making them laugh harder and jeer. ‘He thinks he can fight us, look at him. Do you think you can fight us, stupid?’

Genji blocks the next punch to his face, but not the one to his stomach that almost sends him to his knees with a yelp. He stumbles into one of them, and they push him away; he staggers to the wall and leans against it to steady himself, his eyes watering as the pain radiates from his gut.

‘Look, he _is_ going to start crying! Are you going to start crying, baby worm?’

‘No!’ Genji denies vehemently, scrubbing his arm across his face, and one crouches down so they’re eye level, a smirk twisting their face.

‘I think you are. What’s the matter, little baby worm, you gonna go running home to --’

He doesn’t get to finish when Genji jerks forward, head-butting him square in the nose and sends him stumbling back, gushing blood. The others stare in shock, frozen for a moment as the one antagonising Genji staggers to his feet, clutching his bloodied nose and glaring at Genji with watery eyes.

‘You little fucking shit, I’ll get you for that,’ he snarls, breaking the spell on the others. They round on him, advancing, and Genji prepares himself for the inevitable beating when a fifth figure sneaks up behind them, catching their attention. Before they have time to turn around and face him, two of them get their heads cracked together and pulled away by their collars while they’re stunned, and are sent tumbling to curb. The third gets an elbow to the face, and the fourth receives a kick in the gut before being shoved away, and Hanzo plants himself between them and Genji, dropping his bag to the ground and glaring at them.

‘I suggest you walk away from this while you still can, and the next time I see you I might be merciful,’ Hanzo warns them coolly. ‘Continue, and you will regret it.’

Genji looked up at his brother with a mixture of surprise and admiration, standing so cool and collected even when outnumbered, two of the boys bigger and wider than himself.

‘Yeah, right, you don’t scare us,’ one snarled, and the four of them circled the two brothers. ‘You’re just some loser with a loser worm for a brother who can’t fight.’

‘Yet here he stands unhurt, while _you’re_ bleeding,’ Hanzo remarked, glancing disinterestedly at the one who’s gushing blood from his nose. ‘Do you not know who we are? You should know better than to pick a fight with a dragon, especially when no dragon flies alone.’

‘You’re not a dragon,’ one spits, but they’re now hesitant, glancing at each other as if to decide who will make the first move. Hanzo smiles, cocking his head to side.

‘Oh, but I am, and trust me: I’m the worst one yet,’ he says. His smile widens as he glances at Genji, winking at him encouragingly, and he nods his head towards him. ‘Both of us are. Come, see for yourself.’

He shifts into a fighting stance, challenging them. He exudes youthful arrogance of one who has never been beaten in a fight, who believes he can never be beaten in a fight. Looking at his brother, Genji is in awe of him: so calm and confident, he is only three years older than Genji, yet he seems so much more mature, so focused and in control; he is everything Genji wants to be. Genji’s face splits into a grin and he shifts his stance as well, ready to fight beside his brother. His heart races in his chest, the pain in his stomach forgotten as the fear diminishes and gives way to excited anticipation of a fight.

‘You know what, we’re gonna pulverise you both, that little snot nosed worm worst of all,’ one snarls one last time, jabbing a finger at Genji. An empty threat, and they know it, and Hanzo smiles coldly at him.

‘Not as long as I’m around,’ he promises, and in the moment before their standoff is broken and the fight begins, Genji knows that whatever battles he faces in life, he doesn’t have to face them alone, as long as he has his brother.


	3. Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji tried to summon a dragon. It did not go to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I did say I'd update today so, here you go :)
> 
> I think this chapter and the next one are my favourites, so I'll probably update again on Wednesday or Thursday, then it's back to Sunday updates for the last two chapters.
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated, let me know what you guys think. You can also visit me on [Tumblr](aluxra.tumblr.com) too
> 
> Enjoy xXx

‘How can I have such a _fool_ for a younger brother?’

Genji is sixteen years old, and sitting on the edge of his brother’s bed, a bowl filled with bloodied sterile gauze on one side, and one with red-tinted water on his other. Hanzo sits behind him, hooking a needle through Genji’s skin, pulling the thread taut and knotting it with deft fingers. Genji glances at him with the one eye that isn’t swollen shut, holding an ice pack up to his face to ease the swelling. His ribs hurt, his legs shaking where they stretch out in front of him, the muscles burning under his skin, like there is fire scorching through his veins.

He winces when Hanzo pulls too tight on his skin, and he receives a glare as well.

‘What were you thinking?’ Hanzo demands, swiping blood away from the mottled purple-black skin that marrs Genji’s exposed arm from shoulder to wrist, his shirt bundled in the crook of his elbow. ‘Did you even think? You could’ve died!’

‘But I didn’t,’ Genji replies, turning and smiling at Hanzo, who scowls in return.

‘No, you just almost destroyed the training room and put yourself through a _wall._  You’ll be behind your training for at least two months while you heal, although I fear it will take much longer for your idiocy to be cured,’ he snaps, and Genji smiles, the worry in his brother’s voice unmistakable under his anger.

Hanzo sighs exasperatedly, running his fingers through his long black hair.

‘You are _sixteen_ ,’ he reminds his younger brother, and Genji rolls his eyes. ‘You cannot summon the dragons at that age. No one can! Why you think you are the exception is madness.’

‘Other Shimada have accomplished it at a young age,’ Genji argues, although he knows that he is not ready for the dragons’ power. He does not know why he tried to summon it, only that curiosity got the better of him: he did not attempt it to succeed, only to merely attempt it. His brother does not understand his desire to try things simply to try them, nor do any of his family. Hanzo, at least, is the only one who does not meet his nature with scorn and distaste, merely exasperation, which is why he sits on the edge of his bed instead of the family doctor, knowing his father would be alerted immediately to his actions.

‘The youngest known Shimada to accomplish such a feat was Nariko Shimada, and even _that_ is most likely a legend, the same as the two dragon brothers,’ Hanzo replies, shaking his head. ‘Even if it were true, she wasn’t _sixteen_ when she succeeded.’

Genji sighs, tired, his shoulder sagging as he slumps forward, propping his chin on one closed fist, his elbow digging into his knee despite the flare of pain he feels at every point of connection. They fall into silence as Hanzo continues to pull splinters from Genji’s skin and sew up the large gashes striping his shoulder and right side.

‘You’ll succeed,’ Genji says after a stretch of silence.

‘What?’ Hanzo barely looks up at him from his work, threading the needle anew.

‘You’ll be the youngest Shimada to master the dragons,’ Genji says, and Hanzo snorts, shaking his head.

‘You went through the wall harder than I thought. I am nowhere close to mastering the dragons. It takes years of training and discipline and focus; it is far ahead of me, and even more for you,’ he remarks, shoving the back of Genji’s head, ‘who thinks training and discipline and focus are merely suggestions compared to partying and recklessness and mindless daydreaming.’

Genji smiles over his shoulder at Hanzo, catching the hint of one on Hanzo’s face too before Hanzo ducks his head away to hide it, but Genji sees. He laughs, leaning back to bump Hanzo awkwardly with his shoulder.

‘Well, we can’t _all_ be the prodigal son,’ he says as he straightens up, allowing Hanzo to continue his work. There is a beat of silence, and his smile falls from his face, his gaze falling to the floor at his feet as his brow furrows; he looks over his shoulder at Hanzo again, the laughter gone from his warm hazel eyes. ‘Don’t tell father?’

Hanzo pauses, lifting his dark brown eyes to meet Genji’s, before he continues, suturing and wiping and rinsing methodically.

‘I have already sent the house keep to clean up the damage and replace the worst of it; security has been briefed on what I have told them has happened and as far as father will be aware, I misjudged the situation while we were sparring and injured you,’ Hanzo explains, tying the final knot and snipping the excess thread. ‘I will be disciplined, not you, but it will probably just result in more training in order to reflect upon my “error in judgement”.’

‘You think they’ll believe all this came from an “error in judgement”?’ Genji asks, raising his bruised arm.

‘No, but they can’t prove otherwise, as long as you don’t contradict me,’ Hanzo answers. ‘They’ll have no concrete evidence about what happened, nothing except my word; your secret is safe with me, Genji.’

He stops and sets his supplies down on the bed beside him, and looks up at Genji, the anger completely gone from his face. ‘Please do not attempt it again until you are truly ready.’

Genji has always seen his brother as fearless, invincible; untouched by human emotion to cloud his judgement. He sees fear now in his brother’s eyes, and he doesn’t seem that much older than Genji anymore; three years is nothing, and yet it has always seemed to stretch between them, his older brother bearing the responsibility to lead a whole clan when he comes of age and look after his wayward little brother as well.

Genji closes his eyes and nods, leaning in towards his brother; an arm wraps around his shoulders and draws him in close without a word, tucking his head under Hanzo’s chin.

‘I promise,’ Genji says quietly.

Hanzo nods above him, pulling him closer into an encompassing hug, mindful of  Genji’s injuries.

‘Thank you,’ Genji adds, wrapping his hand around Hanzo’s arm and holding on tight.

‘It’s alright,’ Hanzo replies, and Genji knows it’s true. ‘Don’t worry; you'll be okay.’

Genji smiles, never doubting his older brother’s words, grateful that he has Hanzo to turn to when he needs help.

 

 

Less than a year later, Hanzo bears the mark of the dragon, a long, coiling blue-grey dragon down the length of his left arm from shoulder to wrist: the youngest Shimada ever to control the dragons, and the distance between the brothers stretches once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanon featured in this are from [this](http://aluxra.tumblr.com/post/148511312737/headcanon-the-dragons-pt-2) set of headcanons. Namely:
> 
> \-- The Shimada have a lot of legends surrounding the dragon brothers, even believing they were the first Shimada.  
> \-- Hanzo is the youngest Shimada ever to control the dragons, most can only accomplish the feat mid-late twenties, sometimes even early thirties.  
> \-- The dragon tattoo is a rite of passage bestowed upon all Shimada who learn how to control the dragons.


	4. Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji learns how to control the dragon power.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My other favourite chapter for this fic. ^-^
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated, let me know what you guys think. You can also visit me on [tumblr](aluxra.tumblr.com) too C:
> 
> Enjoy  
> XxxX

Genji is twenty two years old, and his body trembles from exertion, sweat slicking his skin, his chest heaving with every ragged breath. His body feels like it is burning, fire scorching under the skin, but it doesn’t hurt; it makes him feel alive. He straightens to his full height, and turns to the procession of spectators watching him, his eyes drawn to the central figure.

Hanzo smiles, a small thing that emanates a mixture of pride and knowing, but his eyes give away how happy he is for his brother as he steps forwards, the clan elders trailing after him a few steps behind.

Genji sheaths his sword, and bows to Hanzo when he stops in front of him. Hanzo returns it, quirking an eyebrow as he looks Genji up and down.

‘Congratulations, you’ve mastered the dragon power,’ he commends him. ‘You’ve been chosen as the vessel for a powerful spirit, one that would burn a weaker man to ash.’

‘I am honoured to be deemed worthy of their strength; I will not disrespect the power they have given me,’ Genji replies solemnly, repeating the words they had learnt by heart since they could speak, the words he had heard his brother say five years previously.

‘I know you won’t,’ Hanzo says, quieter; a conversation only between brothers. His smile widens. ‘The second youngest Shimada ever to control the dragons; didn’t quite beat me, little brother.’

‘Didn’t want you to think I was trying too hard,’ Genji replies with a cocky grin, and Hanzo laughs. He extends his hand, and Genji grips his arm, allowing himself to be pulled into a one armed embrace. Closing his eyes, he grips the back of Hanzo’s jacket, hugging his brother tightly; there is a calm within him that he has never felt before, a feeling of invincibility that does not come from youthful arrogance. Fire burns within him, already he can feel heat radiating from his skin, the dragon slumbering within him.

‘I’m really proud of you,’ Hanzo murmurs in his ear. ‘Father would be, too.’

Genji‘s smile strains at the mention of their late father, but he says nothing and hugs his brother tighter. It is a good day, and he does not want to think on things that would sour it; he stands equal with his brother, even though he will never inherit the clan. The three years have shrunk to feeling more like years instead of decades, the distance between them easier to traverse. They release their grip and step back from each other, and Hanzo claps him on his shoulder.

‘Celebrations are in order,’ he says, addressing the clan elders too, now. ‘We will complete the ceremony in two days hence. I will call Kasumi personally, she will be more than happy to clear her schedule until further notice and you will gain the mark of the dragon!’

‘Of course, this is after everything has been taken into consideration and the final decision is made,’ one of the clan elders interrupts; their uncle Shiro, youngest brother to their deceased father Takahiro; he shares his broad, heavy brow and serious eyes, his face composed of nothing but sharp angles and harsh lines, his hair heavily salt and peppered through the inky black. Like the other clan elders, he is one of the many second or third - or in his case, fourth - brothers and sisters who did not inherit the responsibility of the clan, instead joining past generations as counsel to the clan leader and welcoming younger generations into their circle.

Genji tenses at the sound of his voice; the elders will not welcome him if he chooses to join them. It is the tradition he hates the most, and he feels his elders have the same sense of dread.

‘There is nothing left to consider,’ Hanzo replies, turning to face their uncle, keeping one hand on Genji’s shoulder; he must have felt the tension in Genji, the rigid line of his back and the stiff muscles under his skin, as if ready to fight again.

‘Genji has demonstrated his strength and his commitment to the Dragon, proving himself worthy of its power and granted its blessing,’ Hanzo says, looking between them. ‘The decision is already made by powers beyond the mortal realm; I’d not question the will of the dragon any further.’

‘Of course,’ Jin – one of their great aunts – agrees with a sagely nod, the wrinkles on her face multiplying as she furrows her brow. ‘However, one must remember the same council was held for you, Hanzo, as it is not simply one’s prowess with a weapon that is being assessed.’

‘Yes,’ Shiro says. ‘Other factors are taken into account; personal qualities the individual possesses, how they conduct themselves on a daily basis, as well as their… proclivities.’

Hanzo definitely feels the shift in Genji this time, and his hands tightens minutely on his shoulder.

‘That is not necessary,’ he replies, an edge entering his voice as his smile turns sharp. ‘I know my brother better than anyone; honourable, loyal, steadfast and true. Never has anyone believed so deeply to do the right thing he would risk his own life to do it, his nobility and grace are of the highest calibre; I would even say that there have been times I believed the dragon had already chosen him. He is, without a doubt, _beyond questioning_ to bear the mark of the dragon, as I have before him, and our father, and our grandfather.’

‘Hanzo, if I may say, your father –’ Shiro begins.

‘Would be _proud_ of his youngest son,’ Hanzo interrupts, his smile gone and his tone commanding respect, despite the youngest of the clan elders being twice his age. ‘As would our grandfather Katashi, _your_ father, and neither would take kindly to any who tried to deny a Shimada what is their birthright.’

A stretch of tense silence follows, Genji’s heart hammering in his chest as Hanzo and Shiro stare at each other, before Shiro breaks eye contact first, and bows respectfully.

‘Of course, Hanzo, you are Clan leader; the final decision lies with you,’ he acquiesces.

‘It does, and I have made it,’ Hanzo replies, never taking his eyes off Shiro.

‘Well, that is one formality that does not need to delay the ceremony any more than necessary,’ Shichiro, the youngest of their great grandfather’s six brothers, the last still living, says with a smile, trying to diffuse the situation.

‘Yes, merely a formality, as it has always been,’ Jin agrees, looking to Hanzo. ‘In that case, is there anything you wish for us to do in preparation for the final ceremony celebrations?’

‘I will take care of the details personally, if the council could do the same as you had done with me,’ Hanzo answers, respect for their great aunt evident. She smiles at him, and bows respectfully to him.

‘For my great nephews, of course,’ she says, and Hanzo returns it before he dismisses the council and the brother’s are left alone.

 

It is only when Genji is sure they are alone that he breathes a sigh of relief, his shoulders sagging under Hanzo’s grip.

Hanzo turns to him and claps his shoulder again.

‘As usual, brother, your reputation precedes you,’ he jokes, and Genji offers a weak smile in return. Hanzo senses he wishes the conversation does not proceed down that path, and he nods minutely in understanding.

‘Come, you must be hungry,’ he says instead, wrapping an arm around Genji’s shoulders: when before Hanzo felt like a furnace if you stood too close, now Genji can barely feel the difference in their body temperatures, his own fire burning steadily under his skin. ‘We also have much to discuss in terms of the ceremony. We will have to meet with Kasumi immediately to discuss your tattoo design and placement; have you given it much thought?’

‘Yes, actually, I have, brother,’ Genji replies hesitantly. Hanzo cocks his head to the side, interested, and waits for Genji to continue.

‘I wish it to be on my back,’ Genji says.

‘Not your arm, as you are right handed?’ Hanzo queries; the most common place Shimada tattoo their dragons was their dominant arm, occasionally one would choose the leg on their dominant side, or somewhere on the weaker side in order to lend strength. Chest pieces occasionally showed up, like their father, but back pieces were rare, as it risked offending the dragon to believe the Shimada thought that the dragon’s place was behind them. The most famously known Shimada to have a back piece was Hanzo and Genji’s ancestor Nariko Shimada, who had been tattooed from neck to knee with the depiction of the _Yamata No Orochi,_  whose power she channelled through her eight chosen weapons, though she favoured the _ko-naginata_.

‘No, I believe the dragon understands my wish,’ Genji answers, glancing at Hanzo and smiling. ‘I can’t have you watching my back forever.’

There is a pause, and something changes in Hanzo’s expression before he ducks his head, closing his eyes and shaking his head as he chuckles under his breath.

‘Genji, I will _always_ be here to watch your back, you don’t have to worry about that,’ he promises, squeezing his shoulders and Genji leans into the hug, smiling with Hanzo.

‘Although, I am grateful for the help, perhaps I will not go grey so early, now,’ Hanzo adds, and Genji laughs, playfully shoving Hanzo. Hanzo laughs and shoves him back as the brothers exit the hall, their conversation easing along into other things, and Genji trusts Hanzo’s words as he has always done: as long as he and Hanzo watch each others backs, everything will be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanons referenced in this chapter can be found [here](http://aluxra.tumblr.com/post/148585421727/overwatch-headcanon-7), [here](http://aluxra.tumblr.com/post/148410201837/overwatch-headcanon-2) and [here](http://aluxra.tumblr.com/post/148511312737/headcanon-the-dragons-pt-2) again
> 
> Originally I was torn on whether Genji's tattoo was on his right arm, to balance Hanzo's, or on his back, but ultimately chatting with my mate Inkblotbun ([tumblr](inkblotbun.tumblr.com)) I have been won over to Genji having the tattoo on his back.
> 
> Any other headcanons that I haven't mentioned, feel free to ask C:
> 
> Also, there's a pattern to the chapter names. Can you guess what it is?


	5. Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter to go after this :O
> 
> I don't think I have any additional headcanons referenced in this chapter that I haven't already mentioned, but if you want to chat about something in particular, feel free to leave me a note since comments and kudos are appreciated. You can also visit me on tumblr too C:
> 
> Enjoy xXx

Genji is twenty five years old, and stumbling home late at night after a party held in the South District, his mind fogged with alcohol and the scent of cologne and perfume clinging to his shirt, the top three buttons missing from someone grabbing him a little too eagerly on the dance floor. He dances now, swaying on his feet as he hums under his breath, the fresh air mixing with his alcohol clouded brain and making him woozy. It doesn’t matter, no one is out this late at night to see him, the streets deserted of patrons in the early hours of the morning, and he can wander home in peace without being disturbed. His eyes drawn to the clear night sky, the stars hidden from view from the heavy light pollution Hanamaru produces.

He sighs, tearing his eyes away from the sky as the walls of Shimada Castle loom in front of him, and he considers vaulting the walls to get back inside, although security may have something to say about that. He laughs under his breath, imagining the headlines: _Drunken Younger Shimada lays waste to Shimada Security while Intoxicated… How secure is Shimada Castle really?_

Well, probably not that, that’s too long.

He leans against the wall by the gate, rubbing one hand over his face as he doubles over, his stomach deciding now was a good time to voice its unhappiness with him. He breathes in through his nose deeply, exhaling through his mouth, repeating it several times so the pavement stops rising up to meet him and tipping away from under his feet. His head feels like it is about to roll off his shoulders, the cool night air making him shiver now that he is standing still...ish.

He huffs a breath, and dares straighten up just as one of the gates slide open, and Hanzo stands there in the shadows of the arch with a scowl on his face.

Genji winces internally, even as he plasters a smile on his face and folds his arms across his chest. He braces himself against the wall, trying to look nonchalant. He seems to have gained a brother over the course of the night, two of them standing frowning at him.

‘Ah,  _ gooooood…  _ morning? Hanzo,’ he half-sings, trying to follow him as he spun in Genji’s vision. ‘What are you doing up so-o so,  _ so  _ late… early… late? Surely you’re not thinking of going out at this time of night?’

‘Get in, Genji,’ he sighs in response, pushing the gate open further to allow Genji entry.

‘Ah, don’t be like that, Hanzo, you’ll get wrinkles,’ he laughs, pushing himself up and sways on his feet. Hanzo’s frown deepens, his nose wrinkling at the mixture of overwhelming scents clinging to Genji.

‘We have an array of cars that could be used to pick you up from… wherever you were,’ he replies.

‘You know where I was, Hanzo, you don’t have to pretend,’ Genji says, holding Hanzo’s gaze in a moment of sobriety amidst the haze. Hanzo sighs, rubbing his head.

‘Yes, very well, I knew where you were, just as I  _ always  _ know where you are,’ Hanzo snaps. ‘Because you think by dismissing your bodyguards, they actually leave you without any protection.’

‘I  _ have  _ protection,’ Genji argues, gesturing to himself with a rolling shrug that sends his whole upper body leaning back, and he has to grab onto the wall again for support.

‘You are in no fit state to fight, with or without the dragon power.’

_ ‘ _ Eh, Hanzo,  _ yoooou  _ don’t know  _ what  _ you are talking about.’ Genji waggles a finger at Hanzo, pointing somewhere over his left shoulder.

‘Here, I shall prove it to you!’ Genji decides with a grin, pushing himself away from the wall… and keels sharply to the right, the pavement rising to meet him again.

A hand wraps around his wrist, stopping him before he stumbles to the curb.

‘You know I could best you even if you weren’t a drunken fool at the moment,’ Hanzo says, keeping a hold of Genji’s wrist even as he tries to shake Hanzo off, prying at his fingers. The dragon along his arm peeks out from under his sleeve, watching them with cold, inky blue eyes, judging them.

‘True, Hanzo,’ he laughs, giving up on trying to escape his brother. ‘Sobre fool, drunken fool… all are second best fool to the pro-di- _ di _ -gal son.’

Hanzo’s face softens, his scowl turning into a grimace as he closes his eyes and shakes his head, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

‘Genji…’

‘No, you needn’t say anything, Hanzo, I know, I know,’ Genji says, waving him off and repeating the last two words like a song. ‘I know. I know. I  _ know. _ ’

‘No, you don’t,’ Hanzo whispers. ‘You don’t know the half of it.’

‘I know more than you  _ thi-ink _ ,’ Genji sings, laughing.

‘Do you know what is said about you behind your back? In closed rooms with locked doors? What people  _ think  _ about you?’ Hanzo demands, an edge entering his voice that might sound like concern had Genji been sober. Maybe.

‘What do _you_ think of me?’ Genji asks instead of answering, his smile disappearing. He scratches his free hand through his neon green hair - the least of concerns in the vast list of things that mark Genji a pariah - pushing it out of his face. ‘What do you think of me, brother? What do you say about me behind my back, in closed rooms with locked doors? What do  _ you  _ think of me?’

A memory comes to him in the haze, of his father standing over the two brothers when they were younger, bloodied and bruised from being outnumbered in a fight with a group of boys. Their mother had sat with Genji, cleaning his cuts and grazes with astringent antiseptic while he sniffled miserably, trying not to cry. 

_ Shimada are dragons; they do not cry over lesser men _ . 

Their fathers words, a select few of the many he imparted onto his sons: Hanzo learnt that lesson quicker than Genji, learnt everything faster than Genji, a true dragon that shed his mortal skin. Genji didn’t learn, still couldn’t learn; how could he, when it was not lesser men that attacked him, but other dragons.

‘You know what I think of you,’ Hanzo replies quietly, his voice strained. ‘You are my  _ brother _ , I love you. I refute those who doubt you, I silence those who speak against you: if they say you are unworthy, I let it be known time and time again I want you to help me rule our empire-’

‘Oh, for -  _ Hanzo _ ...’ Genji whines, hating this conversation.

‘To build it bigger than our ancestors ever dreamed of, to make it  _ greater _ ,’ Hanzo speaks over him, his other hand reaching up to grab his shoulder, forcing Genji to face him. ‘I can’t do it alone, I need your help. You and I, together, we could do it. We could make the Shimada name immortal, an empire that will never fall.’

‘All empires fall, eventually,’ Genji replies with a heavy sigh, shaking his head. ‘And that is  _ not  _ what I want; I do not wish to rule, Hanzo - that is  _ your  _ inheritance. Mine is freedom for being the second son, I am free while I live in your shadow. I am  _ free _ . A little sparrow. Free to fly and fly and fly and not care about anything or anyone and do as I please.’

‘Genji, there’s always consequences,’ Hanzo says quietly, and now there is definitely something in his voice that Genji is too drunk to catch. He stares at Hanzo with narrowed eyes, trying to focus the two of them into one single figure and shakes his head.

‘Eh, they are for sobre-Genji to deal with,’ Genji says, shrugging and laughing. Hanzo opens his mouth, to scorn Genji or something else, but thinks better of it: he must realise that it is a losing fight, trying to reason with Genji right now, so he simply shakes his head and sighs.

‘Come on,’ Hanzo says, wrapping an arm around Genji’s shoulders gently and leading him through the gate and into the courtyard,  the security guards pointedly looking the other way as the Shimada brothers pass them. Genji half slumps against his brother, wrapping his arms around his middle as his stomach twists again: he feels fingers scratch through his hair comfortingly, quiet, soothing shushes above his head and he smiles through the grimace as he is led through the castle to his room.

Hanzo guides him into bed, like he is four years old again, as Genji fights his way out of his clothes down to his boxer shorts and all but falls into bed, rolling onto his stomach so the dragon painting his back stares up at Hanzo.

Hanzo glances at its vibrant green-gold eyes before he disappears into Genji’s en-suite, returning with a glass of water he sets by Genji's side, a trash can sitting beside it, before pulling the covers up over Genji, hiding the dragon from view. He sits on the edge of Genji’s bed, his hand resting on his shoulder through the quilt as he stares at the floor without really seeing it.

‘I care,’ he whispers.

‘Hmm?’ Genji answers groggily, turning to face Hanzo and cracking one eye open.

‘I care what they say about you,’ he explains, still not looking at Genji. ‘I care what they think; I care that they say you need to be reigned in, to be kept in check-’

‘Ah, same thing they’ve always said.’ Genji shrugs it off. ‘I have heard it all before.’

‘Genji,’ Hanzo says, his voice straining. ‘I don’t know how long…’

He trails off, rubbing his free hand over his face. Genji rises up on his elbows, looking over his shoulder at Hanzo in concern. There is something he is missing, something that eludes his drunken, sleepy mind that he will forget in the morning, that he needs to remember.

‘Hanzo?’ he slurs, reaching over his shoulder to grasp Hanzo’s hand. ‘Hanzo, what is wrong?’

Hanzo is silent for a few long moments, staring off into space until he blinks, and shakes his head. He looks back to Genji and smiles sadly, squeezing his hand comfortingly.

‘Don’t worry about it, Genji, it’ll be okay,’ he said. He leans down and bumps his forehead against Genji’s, even though Genji knows he smells like a club bar countertop, and he nudges his brother back. They remain like that for a moment, before Hanzo pulls away, squeezing Genji’s hand again.

‘You should get some sleep, I’ll find some aspirin for you to take in the morning,’ Hanzo says, releasing Genji and standing up.

‘Thank you, nii-chan,’ Genji says, burrowing down into his pillows and closing his eyes. He hears the soft creak of the floorboards and the shuffle of Hanzo’s feet as he headed towards the door, when he recalls an earlier event that night, and he opens his eyes, shifting back up onto his elbows. ‘Hey, Hanzo?’

‘Yes, Genji?’ Hanzo asks, pausing at the door, looking over his shoulder.

‘Ah, the Nakamura deal tomorrow… today…? Eh, anyway, Nakamura… you won’t get much argument to get things to go your way. He can’t hold his drink,’ Genji explains with a grin, propping his cheek against one hand. Hanzo stares at him, brows knitted together before he chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. 

‘What would I do without you, Genji?’

‘You would finally be able to call yourself the prettiest, that’s for sure,’ Genji joked.

‘Idiot,’ Hanzo laughed, picking up Genji’s shirt from the floor and throwing it at him in a ball. Genji ducks, snickering.

‘Eh, you see nii-chan? You aid the Shimada empire your way, I’ll aid it my way,’ he says, yawning. ‘Everyone else... just talks.’

He fails to see the look that passes over Hanzo’s face as he stretches back out along his bed, hugging his pillow close to his face as he settles down to sleep. ‘Goodnight, Hanzo.’

‘Goodnight, Genji,’ Hanzo replies quietly, stepping out of his bedroom. He pauses, one hand on the door as he stares at his brother across the room. ‘Genji…?’

‘Hmm?’

‘You know… you know I’m here for you, no matter what people say? I’ll make sure that everything…’

‘Ah, Hanzo,’ Genji interrupts him, throwing a peace sign over his head. ‘Don’t worry so much, you’ll get wrinkles. I know, Hanzo, I know.’

Hanzo frowns, looking away before nodding, almost as if to himself. 

‘Goodnight, Genji,’ he says, before he slides the door shut. Genji waves lazily at the closed door, to tired to call a second goodnight back to his brother. His alcohol addled mind craves the warmth and softness of his bed, sleep enveloping him like a loving embrace, and he drops off into a peaceful, hazy slumber, trusting in Hanzo that no matter what anyone says, Hanzo is there to protect Genji from their venom and keep him safe.


	6. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji gets his cybernetics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am still not happy with the way this chapter turned out, so I might keep coming back and doing little tweaks to it but overall this is how I imagined it went down.
> 
> Also, I am so sorry it's a day late, I thought I 'd be finished it but the whole middle section popped up out of nowhere and I had to incoporate that to tie everything together and it ended up being the longest chapter yet like yikes.
> 
> Anyway, last chapter finally up. Enjoy the angst and let me know what you think c:

Genji is twenty seven years old, and he can’t breathe.

Shadows dance on the walls as his eyes try to focus on the blur of movement around him, high pitched beeps and sharp hisses of pressurised air piercing through him. He tries to turn his head, tries to roll over onto his side, lifts his hand to try to pull the thing in his mouth out that’s choking him and can’t seem to coordinate his limbs to work.

He panics.

His body lurches to the side and pain shoots up his arm, a burning hot sting that makes him cry out, choked and muffled. He falls back, squeezing his eyes shut, wishing for darkness and calm: he sees a bloody sword behind his eyelids, a large tapestry of two dragons hanging high above his head and the slashed scroll below it, blood splattered across the calligraphy. He opens his eyes wide, trembling as he tries to escape again when he feels two hands press against his shoulders; they don’t pin him down, don’t force him still but he stops anyway, searching for their owner.

He hears his name, repeated over and over again; he looks up, sees a halo of golden blonde hair and bright blue eyes in the haze. He hears his name again, a woman’s voice calling to him to calm and to listen; he’s in hospital, he’s intubated, he’s trying to breathe on his own - which is apparently good - they’re going to remove the tube, but he needs to stay calm.

He tries, pressing his head back against the pillow he’s resting on. He tries to grip the sheets but he can’t feel his arms properly, just a vague sensation of weight there. He blinks back tears, a few escaping down his temples and he squeezes his eyes shut as they remove the plastic tubing supplying his lungs air, his throat contracting after it, trying to force it out faster and he coughs when it is finally free. A mask is fitted over his face, from nose to chin and he sucks in the new supply of oxygen greedily, large, deep swallows of breath as he slowly stops shaking, his breath hitching as tears flow more freely.

He hears his name again as he sags back down into the bed, listening to the woman talk without actually hearing what she is saying. He hears the word _Overwatch_ amongst the white noise and not much else: everything overwhelms him, becoming too much to bear. He closes his eyes, shaking his head at the constant stream of voices around him: he doesn’t understand them, he can’t think clearly, he doesn’t want any of them to be here. He wants… he needs…

‘Hanzo…’ he rasps weakly, before the darkness envelops him and he sinks into oblivion.

* * *

Genji is twenty seven years old, and he has no idea where he is.

The walls are stark white around him, and machines and tubing and wires clutter around him: numbers flash on the heart monitors with measurements and readings, a canister of oxygen hissing gently as it feeds him air through the NIV over his face. Pumps and drains hiss and gurgle, filling the otherwise quiet room. The window high above his head shows bright blue skies if he tilts his head a certain way, the sunlight brightening the hospital ward he lies in to an almost dreamlike quality. He tries to lift his arms, or shift his legs, but he feels locked in place, unable to move. He looks around, turning his head this way and that as far as it will go: a brace sits around his neck, locking him in place. Out the corner of his eye, he sees a woman with golden blonde hair and bright blue eyes stands, flicking through a file. She wears a long white coat, and a stethoscope hangs around her neck. He recognises her, and when she looks up, she smiles at him gently and closes the file, approaching him.

‘Hello, Genji,’ she greets. ‘My name is Dr. Angela Zeigler. Do you understand what I am saying?’

‘Yes,’ he croaks after a moment: he learnt English fluently when he was younger, but her accent throws him off for a moment and he takes a second or two longer to process her words. His throat burns when he speaks, a supernova erupting in his trachea that scorches up his windpipe and sends him into a gasping, coughing fit.

‘Genji, you have to be careful. Your throat was damaged when you came to us, so your vocal chords are not working properly. Do you understand?’ she asks, coming up to stand beside his bed.

He nods, sucking in a deep breath from the NIV, the oxygen doing nothing to alleviate the burn in his throat.

‘You are in Overwatch headquarters, in the medbay,' Dr. Ziegler explains without him needing to ask. 'You have spent the last two weeks in an induced coma, so you may feel some disorientation and nausea, as well as some ongoing sensory issues that should resolve in time. Are you still following me?’

Genji takes a moment to process the information, his eyes flicking to the beeping machines and the painted white walls, before he takes a deep, calming breath and nods slowly.

‘Good, that’s really good, Genji,’ she says, taking a small flashlight out of her pocket and shining it in his eyes, watching them before pocketing it again and scribbling a quick note in her file. ‘Ocular responses are normal, and your hearing doesn’t seem to have been affected. We’ll need to do some further tests before we confirm anything, if you are well enough.’

‘I… I…’ he begins, the words scratching up his throat as he tries to form cohesive sentences, but they slip through his grasp like spring water, thoughts rising like bubbles to the surface only to burst when he tries to touch them. He shakes his head, sucking in a breath when he can’t form any sort of full sentence: panic sets in, and he stares at her pleadingly to understand.

‘Take your time, Genji, you’ll be alright,’ Dr Ziegler continues slowly, watching him closely. She slips the file under her arm, checking the monitors and the drips around him.

He watches her a moment, before he manages to rasp: ‘What happened?’

She glances at him, as if debating whether to answer or not.

‘You came in to us in critical condition,’ she begins. ‘We had to operate immediately, but there were complications: you had already lost high volumes of blood, and the damage was more extensive than we first thought. We have had to keep you sedated in order to minimise further damage to the repairing tissue.’

She pauses, looking at Genji. Genji stares back at her, waiting for her to continue.

‘Due to the trauma that your body has been subjected to, it became clear to us early that the chances of you surviving without extreme intervention were very low. I am very sorry, but I’m afraid we were unable to completely save your limbs, and we had to amputate portions of them in order to keep you alive,’ she says, without further preamble. ‘The tissue was dead and the necrosis was spreading by the time you came to us; I am sorry.’

 _Amputate?_ Genji’s blood runs cold. His breath hitches, and he starts to shake, trying to sit up. Dr. Ziegler is by his side in an instant, resting a firm but comforting hand on his bandaged shoulder.

‘Genji, you must be careful not to strain yourself, you have undergone extensive surgery and are still recovering,’ she warns.

 _Amputate?_ Genji shakes his head as much as he is able to, swallowing around the lump in his throat; cold sweat prickles his brow and he tries to sit up again, but his body won’t respond, the brace holding him in place. His shaking worsens, and he jerks frantically. He gasps for breath, and the machines around him begin to shriek, furious pulses of sharp, short beeps piercing the air. A look of deep concern passes over Dr. Ziegler’s face, and she steps closer.

‘Genji? Genji, can you focus on me?’ she asks. ‘Genji?’

He thrashes again automatically, the wires and tubing connected to him clacking against each other, straining against the sudden pull: IV drips attached to metal poles swing from their hooks, the metal rattling as it tilts. He hears his name again, but he doesn’t process it, still trying to move in the brace around his neck.

He cranes his neck as far as he can, his chin cutting into the plastic casing, looking down the length of his body as he raises his arms above him. The warm, crisp white blanket falls away, and Genji’s breath catches in his throat, his eyes widening as he stares at the stumps of his arms, tightly wrapped in layers of bandages just above the elbow, as white as the blanket he lies under.

_Oh, God no._

_No_

_No_

_No_

_No_

**_No_ **

**_No_ **

**_NO_ **

He keens, high pitched and broken before his breath escapes him in a rush, his lungs freezing in his chest. He shakes his head, a shallow moan bubbling up his throat as he jerks and twists again, Dr. Ziegler calling to him over the ruckus but he can’t hear her over the screaming of the machines but it’s not the machines it’s him, he’s screaming, a feral, broken sound that tears his throat from the force of it, what’s left of his arms shrieking in pain as the cannulas under his skin are jerked, tearing away where the adhesive strip around it comes loose.

The room tilts and spins around him, blurring into a kaleidoscope of colours as tears burn in eyes, and he squeezes them shut as he twists violently, torquing round as he tries to escape: pain shoots through his head, spreading up from the base of his skull as Dr. Ziegler calls out to him as if from a great distance. There’s a clatter of a trolley falling, a stampede of footsteps, hard, fierce voices joining Dr. Ziegler’s as he continues to scream even as hands pin him down, hold him steady, even as a sharp stab burns his skin, warmth spreading through his veins and his vision goes blurry, the edges growing darker. His screams get weaker as the darkness beckons him back into the abyss and he falls deep within it.

* * *

Genji is twenty seven years old and he is lost.

The sedatives wear off, the morphine ebbs and flows, leaving his mind like cotton wool, his throat tasting like it. He watches the shadows move across the brightly lit wall, the sun always shining through the window above him. He glances out the corner of his eye at Dr. Ziegler, her head bent over a file in her hand, scribbling notes.

She is not alone.

A man sits with her on the chair in the corner of the room, mostly out of sight, but he is tall and broad shouldered; dressed all in black he sticks out like a sore thumb in the whiteness of the room. He has rich, warm brown skin and pitch black hair hidden under a beanie cap, a matching moustache and goatee adorning his handsome, angular face. He rolls a cigarette between his fingers, the tip of his tongue darting out to lick the edge of the paper before sealing it.

‘Agent Reyes, the medbay is a no-smoking area,’ Dr. Ziegler says sternly without looking up from her file: she doesn’t realise Genji is awake yet. The man called Reyes smiles, tapping the tip of his cigarette on his knee.

‘Just stocking up for future, Dr. Ziegler. No need to worry,’ he replies, a slow, velvet drawl carrying the words. Dr. Ziegler frowns and looks up, catching sight of Genji and she turns to him instead.

‘Hello, Genji,’ she greets him, folding the file shut and coming to stand by his bed. ‘Do you remember who I am?’

He nods, unable to form the words he needs and she smiles encouragingly.

‘Good, that’s excellent, Genji,’ she replies, before glancing over her shoulder and nods at the man in the chair. ‘This is Agent Gabriel Reyes; he will be in the room with us during my check up, if that is alright with you?’

Genji’s eyes narrow in confusion, looking between them questioningly. It is the man, Reyes, that answers.

‘Well, _niño_ , it’ll be a sad day when I lose a fight to someone with a fucked up spine, missing his arms and his legs,’ he replies, working on another cigarette. He glances up at Genji, a smile on his face that doesn’t look entirely friendly. ‘But you gave it your best shot; I’m _almost_ impressed.’

Genji decides he doesn’t like Agent Reyes.

Agent Reyes seems to read his mind, because he laughs, a deep rumbling in his chest.

‘Yeah, yeah, go ahead and hate me,’ he chuckles, licking the rolling paper and sealing it. ‘They don’t call me _the Bastard_ around here, for nothing.’

Genji just raises his eyebrows, and Reyes’ grin widens.

‘Agent Reyes, please do not antagonise my patient,’ Dr. Ziegler says. ‘He is still recovering.’

‘What is... going… to happen... to... me?’ Genji asks suddenly, despite the burn that accompanies the weak rasp of the words, barely above a whisper that he fears she cannot hear him. He chokes on them, coughing drily.

Reyes and Dr. Ziegler look at each other, and Reyes shrugs.

‘At least he doesn’t fuck around, wasting time,’ he says, reclining in his chair and spreading the tobacco evenly along the length of the paper. ‘That depends entirely on you, _niño_ , if you’re interested in what we have to offer.’

‘Which... is?’

‘Nothing you need to focus on at the moment,’ Dr. Ziegler interjects, before glaring at Reyes. ‘Gabriel, please, this isn’t the time for such matters.’

‘It’ll come up sooner or later, Doc, might as well be now since we’re all sitting cosy, here,’ Reyes replies, rolling up the cigarette. He looks over at Genji, who meets his eye, waiting. ‘Tell me,you know about cyberisation?’

There’s a pause as Genji let’s the words sink in, pulling at threads in his mind before he nods.

‘Advanced technological cybernetic prosthesis, designed to mimic the physiological functions of the wearer, usually with increased abilities beyond the average human limits,’ Reyes says, sealing his cigarette and tapping it against his knee. He sets it down and begins a new one, a deliberate, steady rhythm to his movements. ‘New arms, new legs, new spine, a few choice extras on top: think we can’t tell by the way you breathe that your lungs are fucked? Think you’re wearing that brace to look pretty for the Doc, here? Spine fucked, lungs fucked, arms and legs gone… things aren’t going to well for you, are they, _niño_?’

There’s a pause, and Genji swallows around the lump in his throat.

‘You want... to... to turn me... into a ma… machine?’ Genji asks, his broken voice cracking. ‘Turn me... into one of those _things_?’

‘No, Genji, the cybernetics are built around your own physiology; we would construct armour plating to support and compensate for the damage done to your internal organs and musculature, as well as full cybernetic prosthesis for your arms and legs, but we would minimise how much of your body we would be replacing,’ Dr. Ziegler explains. ‘The full extent of the cybernetics would have to be determined with some further tests, but you would still very much be you underneath it.’

‘Parts... of...me,’ Genji replies bitterly.

‘Better than the alternative,’ Reyes states, setting the tobacco, rolling it up, sealing it.

‘What is… that?’

‘We kick you to the kerb,’ he says bluntly, tapping the cigarette against his knee and setting it carefully with the others. ‘Well, Boy Scout and the good doctor here wouldn’t be _that_ harsh, but the sentiment is the same: we set you up in a nice civilian hospital, fees covered, new identity and all that, let them take care of you, and you never hear from us again.’

Reyes shrugs. Set, roll, seal, tap. ‘Yeah, they’ll fix you up best they can, give you some function back with standard prosthesis, or maybe a motorised wheelchair, but either way, you sure as fuck won’t be doing any of that fancy ninja shit you used to do. That pretty sword of yours? It will sit and rust till the day you die.’

Set, roll, seal, tap _. ‘That’s_ the alternative.’

The silence stretches for a moment, before Dr. Ziegler sighs and begins checking Genji’s vitals.

‘You don’t need to make any decisions right now, Genji,’ she says quietly. ‘I would recommend that we leave such discussions till a later date when you are --’

‘What’s the... catch?’ Genji asks, his eyes focusing on Reyes. He doesn’t have the money or the assets to pay for that kind of procedure, now that he is dead to the Shimada, and he doubts they will do it out the goodness of their hearts.  ‘What’s in… for you?’

Reyes smiles, a cat that’s caught the canary… or the sparrow.

Set, roll, seal, tap.

‘A machine,’ he replies, throwing Genji’s words back at him as he looks up at him through thick, dark eyelashes. ‘A lean, mean, killing machine… who has inside knowledge on every fucking worm who calls themselves a Shimada. Yeah, _niño_ , you think your clan hasn’t popped up on our radar? We’ve been trying to bring down the “Dragon Lords of Japan” for a while now - pretentious name, by the way, who the fuck came up with that? But we haven’t found a way in, until now.’

‘You want me… betray... my family,’ Genji says: it’s not a question, realisation dawning on him. Reyes snorts, shaking his head.

‘What is it with these ingrates,’ he says, speaking directly to Dr. Ziegler. ‘That they’d go to hell and back for some dumb fucks who don’t give two shits about them? McCree, Amraoui, _him_ \- you’d think we were asking them to sell out some God-given Saints the way they act.’

‘Here’s the thing,’ he continues before she has a chance to answer, locking eyes with Genji, his smile gone. ‘You can’t go back to the life you had, cause one, they think you’re dead, and two, if you did, they’d make sure to finish the job. You can’t take a civilian life, I can fucking tell a warrior when I see one, no matter how fucked up he is, and a civilian life just isn’t for you. What you _can_ do, though, is get payback on every single fuck who had a hand in leaving you in the sorry fucking state you came to us in.’

‘And... afterwards? With… me?’ Genji demands,  blinking against the burn creeping across his eyes, trying to ignore it.

‘You roll with us, but you roll with _my_ side of the family.’ Reyes shrugs. ‘We look after our own: all you gotta do, is the same for us. You do that, we’ll all get along just fine.’

‘Just like that?’ Genji rasps. ‘You always... welcome... former-criminals in...to your... Organisation?’

‘I got a quota to fill, every couple’a years, yeah, and I’m overdue,’ Reyes says, and Genji laughs despite himself, coughing around it at the tail end. Reyes smiles, and reclines in the chair.

‘Look, you don’t have to like me,’ he says. ‘Hell, I’d get the good doctor to check your head again if you did, and we aren’t giving you shit out the goodness of our hearts: but you do for us, and we do for you, and we make sure you don’t ever have to go through this kinda shit again. It’s your choice.’

Genji falls silent, thinking of Hanzo, and the sadness in his eyes as they crossed blades. He thinks of all the meetings behind closed doors, of the whispers behind his back, hissed into Hanzo’s ear by their aunts and uncles, pushing him, urging him to do his _duty_ to the clan. He thinks about their glares and their disapproving scowls, the sideways glances thrown his way: the weak link, the pariah, the embarrassment, the disgrace to the Clan. The one who would ruin the Shimada Empire that had been built if given the chance.

_All empires fall, eventually._

He recalls those words, crystal clear out of the depths of his mind: he once said them to Hanzo, though he can’t remember when or why.

_All empires fall._

He swallows, feeling a burn in his eyes and a burn at the back of his throat, like he’s going to be sick.

‘Genji, you don’t have decide right now,’ Dr. Ziegler says. ‘We can-’

‘Do it,’ he bites out before he can second guess himself, but he knows there’s no chance of that: they all know the choice isn’t really a choice, and there’s only one path for Genji to take. So he’ll take it. ‘I’ve made... my decision: do it.’

Dr. Ziegler stares at him, like she wants to say something, but ultimately doesn’t, nodding in acceptance. ‘Very well, I’ll start the necessary preparations for it. Gabriel, if you could inform Jack and the rest of the team about our new recruit, I will leave you to handle that side of things.’

‘Not a problem, doctor,’ he says, standing and sliding the cigarettes into his pocket along with the tobacco tin and rolling papers. He looks over at Genji, a smirk curling his lip.  ‘Glad we had this chat, _niño_.’

‘Agent Reyes?’ Genji rasps after him as he heads for the door, and Reyes pauses, glancing over his shoulder. Genji meets his eye, despite the awkward angle, holding his gaze firmly as he slowly, clearly enunciates his next words. ‘ _N_ _o me llame_ “ _n_ _iño”.'_

* * *

Genji is twenty seven years old, and he is alone.

The cyberisation procedure was a success, after countless tests and psychological evaluations, a thirty-two hour long surgery that fitted metal and nanotubing to his entire body, hooking up microtechnology to link directly to his nervous system for fine motor control and sensory input. His spine has been reconstructed, fused with an exoskeleton down the length of his back from the base of his skull to the small of his back, carrying all the minute signals that allow him to move.

He is machine from head to toe, the polished, white metal plates connected by a fine mesh of metal-alloy fibres that help compression and relaxation of the musculature that is left, helping him breathe more easily. He even has a new voice box, a robotic twang lacing his words now underneath the visor protecting his face.

He doesn’t have that on at the moment, staring down at his new metal hands with his own two eyes in the darkness of the night. The prosthesis are incredible, he cannot deny it: they move just like real fingers, minute little twitches without having to think about them. He turns them over, moving them this way and that, the pale brown mesh and glaring white metal catching the dim light above his head, shiny and new.

He feels sick to his stomach - at least he still has that - the longer he stares at them. His whole body is covered in the cybernetics, the wires and tubing and metal burrowing under his skin, infecting him with nanotechnology: there is nothing left of him exposed except his face at the moment, and even then, there is the visor sitting on his bedside table, silently mocking him.

His breath catches in his throat, and he sucks in air through his teeth, clamping his hands over his mouth to stop the sob escaping his lips. His chest burns, his lungs spasming as he tries to swallow it down. A cold sweat prickles his skin, his limbs shaking, just like they would if they were still flesh and bone. Bile rises up his throat as he stares at his trembling body: it shouldn’t be doing that, it shouldn’t look so alive when it’s nothing but metal and fibre mesh.

He had done well throughout the day, as everyone spoke over him and around him, testing this reflex and that reflex, the set of the metal and the nanotubing connections: he was deaf to all of it, a dark grey haze settling over his mind as he passed through the day without remembering any of it. He can’t remember anything Dr. Ziegler said, or who else had been in the room visiting him when the operation was complete: he can’t even remember their faces, blurs that passed by without pause.

He chokes, his lungs heaving as he tries to take a calming breath, failing and he crumples, curling over himself as he cries quietly into the blanket, drawing his knees up to his plated chest. It takes effort to move them, a sudden weight he’s not used to pressing down on his whole body from every side: they said he’ll get used to it, they said he’d adjust but he feels lost with this new body, detached from it no matter how long he stares at it, like it’s a nightmare come to life.

He remembers when he used to have nightmares when he was a child, and he’d sneak into Hanzo’s room for protection. He remembers when he used to make mistakes or do something stupid, and he’d go to Hanzo for help. He remembers every time he made a bad decision, every time he did something right, and Hanzo was there, telling him everything was okay.

He remembers the look in Hanzo’s eyes when their blades met in the Dragon’s den, the tapestry hanging high above their heads. He remembers the bloody sword, and the stained calligraphy. He remembers fire in his veins, burning him from the inside out as blood dripped to the floor. He remembers the hot metal at his throat and down his back, slicing into his skin, going down to bone.

He cries, burying his face deeper into the blankets to muffle it, trying not to remember. He doesn’t want to remember, he doesn’t want to think about that.

He wants Hanzo.

He wants his brother.

He _needs_ his brother, telling him everything will be okay, telling him that nothing bad will happen to him as long as Hanzo is with him.

He falls back on the bed he lies on, curling up on his side and pressing his cold, metal hands against his face, turning in towards the pillow as his shoulders shake, his body wracked with the choked, burning sobs. They fill the darkness, echoing around the empty room. He is alone.

Hanzo isn’t there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on [this headcanon](http://aluxra.tumblr.com/post/148251454977/overwatch-headcanon)


End file.
